Death's Ink Black Shadow (26 page)

Ben came close and embraced Nikolas, wrapping his head tightly in his arms, kissing into the blond hair. He whispered, “Don’t do this, Nik. It’s all falling apart.”

Muffled against Ben’s shirt, Nikolas replied, “Not yet. I’m holding it all together—just.”

Ben stood back. Nikolas appeared quite rational. Ben couldn’t even see a tiny glimpse of the madness beneath the calm façade.

“I tried pushing you away. I tried tricking you to go. I’ve tried explaining rationally to you, Ben. What more can I do?”

“I’m going to get Tim and Squeezy dow—”

“They’ve gone, too.”

“What?” Ben’s knees gave out, and he sank into the chair, making it sigh as it settled on the hydraulics. “What did you say?”

“The truth.”

“They believed you?”

Nikolas hesitated for a moment, and Ben then thought he saw the squirming insanity creeping around the edges. It was like watching a god crumble. “The idiot did. Tim was more—resistant.”

“Squeezy’s forced him to go somewhere?”

Nikolas dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I believe some force was required, yes.”

“Oh. My. God.” Ben had an immediate thought and said with some bitterness he knew was uncharacteristic, “Squeezy won’t stay there. He’ll come down here to be with me.”

Nikolas made a dismissive gesture. “I know. That’s why I told him you’re going to join them as soon as I get the others safely away to France.”

“Wh—?”

“I’m taking you to their safe house.”

“You’re fucking
not
taking me anywhere. What do you think this is? This…relationship? It sure as hell isn’t you having the right or ability to make me go anywhere. How are you fucking going to do that, Nikolas? Think you can take me?”

Nikolas appeared thoughtful. “It took me three minutes to have Jackson Keane unconscious, undressed, and in my bed, Ben. I know more about drugs than you do about food. Are you going to never eat, drink, or sleep again? Now, I must take them to the ferry. Do you want to come? Although the car would be very squashed. We’re stopping for some clothes shopping in Plymouth. Pack a bag if you like, while I’m out.”

Ben shook his head, backing away. He said nothing though. He was entirely out of his depth and had no idea what to say about any of it.

He watched Nikolas until he was across the swim lane and then pulled out his phone. Andrea Gillian’s number was in his list of contacts. She was Nikolas’s head doctor—or that was how Ben always thought of her. Nikolas had gone funny before; Andrea had cured him. It was simplistic to see it this way, Ben knew, for Nikolas hadn’t actually gone mad then and she had only given him some pills. Nevertheless, calling her was the first thing that leapt into his mind. She had told Nikolas then—no stress.

Since they had returned from America their lives had been so calm outwardly, but perhaps all this domesticity and family involvement had caused Nikolas more anxiety than anyone had been aware of. Fighting terrorists, psychotic kidnappers, murdering deserters, and tsunamis—those Nikolas had taken in his stride. Finding out Ben had a baby, discovering his own long-lost son? These were the events that had apparently caused a complete psychotic split from reality.

Andrea Gillian’s home phone rang and rang, not offering him the option of leaving a message. He called her surgery. Her receptionist said she’d had a family emergency and had left the previous day. No, she didn’t know when she was coming back.

He tried Squeezy’s number. Tim’s.

He even rang Jackson Keane.

All the phones just rang and rang without being answered. Answered to him. They all had caller ID, of course.

Ben clicked off, staring at the phone for a long time as if it would give him the clarification he needed. He had never felt so alone. He heard the gravel crunch, the murmur of voices as they all packed and left, and then the emptiness of the house crushed him, despite the glass and the bright airiness.

He went to find Radulf, very glad to have his warm presence to embrace.

He sat for a long time on the floor with the dog.

After a while, he pulled Radulf’s new red blanket over them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Ben heard the crunch of wheels on gravel before he expected Nikolas back. He extricated himself from the snoring lump of fur and went to the window.

Steven.

He experienced an immediate stab of relief and gratitude that apparently he wasn’t the only person left in the world—that Nikolas hadn’t also
disappeared
his son.

Ben wasn’t aware that Steven knew where they lived in Devon. Nikolas had tactfully suggested one night that it might be better that his son didn’t see the house Nikolas had built for Ben—that although Steven seemed unconcerned at not knowing his family for so long; indeed, didn’t know that Nikolas
was
his father, rubbing his face in a twenty million pound house given to his boyfriend might not be the best way to go. So Ben had never invited him, and Nikolas, Ben thought, had never told Steven the address. These things weren’t hard to find out though, and he was grateful now that the guy had made the effort.

They chatted for a while about inconsequential things, the journey down, the traffic, and then Ben showed him where to put the car in the garage, and they walked over to the burnt house to explore the remains, as that story had naturally featured in Ben’s response to Steven asking, “What’s been happening? I haven’t heard from Uncle Nikolas for days.” They poked about in the detritus, pulling out the occasional gem that hadn’t been destroyed. “Where is everyone now? In with you?”

Ben didn’t want to get into this with Steven. It was too personal, too raw. “They’ve gone off on holiday. Nik’s taking them to the ferry now.”

Steven pursed his lips. “So there’s plenty of room…?”

Ben didn’t see the connection, then did, and asked surprised, “You want to stay?”

Steven shrugged, and Ben almost laughed at the resemblance to the other Mikkelsen. It would have been a very bitter sound, and he was glad he didn’t make it. Instead, he agreed casually, “Sure. Plenty of room. Stay as long as you like.”

Steven smiled, and they began to walk back to the house.

Cautiously, Ben asked, “Has Nikolas said anything strange to you recently?”

Steven gave him a quick glance. “About what?”

“Anything?”

“Everything my uncle says is strange.”

Ben did snort a little at that familiar reply. It was true. He’d gotten used to Nikolas’s bizarre survival mechanisms—for that is what he now knew them to be. No one else knew Nik so well. It made something inside Ben spark back to life. Maybe this was just a ridiculous glitch they’d overcome like everything else they’d survived, and in a few days they’d be finding it amusing—well, he’d be teasing Nikolas, and Nikolas would be sulking. He suddenly remembered Nikolas’s reaction to Squeezy’s nephew’s death—he’d refused to take it seriously until it had almost been too late for them both. He’d also totally overreacted about a possible threat on Ben’s life in New Zealand—almost killing himself to get to Ben and save his life…from a photographer and a zoom lens, as far as Ben could tell.

This was just Nikolas being Nikolas again. Molly and Steven’s arrival in their lives had sent him into a tailspin, as Ben had thought. Ben ruefully acknowledged to himself that he’d
outwardly
had his manhood crisis—a fear of loss of identity that had necessitated the purchase of a matte-black sports car. Nikolas had apparently remained serene on the surface but had been frantically paddling beneath. He’d kicked a bit too hard. That was all this was.

By the time Ben had made Steven some lunch, he was even looking forward to Nikolas’s return.

Although Nikolas had claimed he was impervious to Ben’s attempts to get him to talk, he wasn’t. Ben had ways and means with Nikolas that torturers didn’t use. Or at least, the ones he’d met hadn’t. Thank God.

He suddenly sagged to an overwhelming sense of tiredness and realised that after the fire and the sleepless night and the strange argument with Nikolas—can it be a fight when only one person is shouting?—the day was catching up with him. He suggested to Steven they watch a movie for the afternoon, fully intending to do a Nikolas and actually sleep through the whole thing.

Happily ensconced on the sofas, Ben sharing his with Radulf, they started watching
After the Wars
. Steven said he’d never seen it. Ben wasn’t bothered. He’d lived it. He just wanted to sleep.

§ § §

Ben woke with a start, the cushions cold alongside him.

He stretched and felt better.

He’d just needed to eat and sleep. He was ready to tackle Nikolas now without the panic and fear that he was watching his idol topple. Idols occasionally needed propping up. Ben had been stiffening up various parts of Nikolas Mikkelsen for years.

There was a note stuck to the TV screen, telling him that Steven had taken Radulf for a walk—up to Drover tor, which his uncle had told him about. It crossed Ben’s mind that with good eyesight he’d be able to see the ferry to France from there as it made its way out through Plymouth Sound. He didn’t like the odd coincidence, and it made him uneasy for some reason that he couldn’t fathom.

The house was quiet once more.

He decided to make something for dinner. His culinary skills were pretty good these days. He smiled as he rummaged in the freezer, remembering Miles with the chocolate cake. Then he recalled the little conspiratorial glance the boy had given Nikolas after the fire, as if they shared a secret that Nikolas didn’t want Ben to know.

Ben straightened.

Was it possible everyone else actually believed Nikolas?

This was a startling thought Ben hadn’t considered before.

He thought back to Em’s words. This
is
Nikolas.

He swallowed. He suddenly realised that it was very possible they did. But Miles and Emilia were only children—despite how they might think themselves superior in wisdom to adults. Molly Rose, obviously, went where she was sent. Jennifer? Did she believe Nikolas? Babushka? Squeezy?

He thought back to the moment when he’d been outside the kitchen in London, squatting in the courtyard looking in at the people inside and becoming aware that his friends had a different relationship with Nikolas when
he
wasn’t present. Although Squeezy called Nikolas the big wassock and Nikolas returned the favour continually addressing Squeezy as the idiot or the moron, they did seem to have an unusual connection when it came to getting things done. They were on the same wavelength.

Was everyone attuned to Nikolas but him?

He heard the gravel warning system once more and glanced out to see Nikolas driving up.

He felt an annoying flutter in his belly. A little anxiety at meeting him again. He felt he’d behaved badly, somehow, in not believing Nikolas, when it was patently obvious that everyone else did.

But it should be the other way around. Nikolas should feel bad. Nikolas should come in apologising for spreading his irrational fears like a virus and infecting all their friends who’d come to see him as infallible and accept his pronouncements and commandments as if he were God.

It would be far better if fewer people were so in his thrall. Nikolas needed people with more common sense around him. Then Ben brought Andrea Gillian to mind. No one saw through Nikolas’s bullshit more than she did.

Family crisis?

He looked up as Nikolas came in and saw a similar fleeting nervousness on his face. At the same time they said, “Sorry,” and grinned, and Ben came into a hard possessive hug very willingly. They stood together in the warm sunshine in their kitchen with the good cooking smells around them, and Ben enjoyed a sense of peace once more. Step by step, he could make this right. One by one, he’d bring them back, summon them from wherever Nikolas had sent them and start healing Nikolas’s fractured psyche. He’d been doing it for many years now. He was pretty good at it. From what he knew of Nikolas, they’d all probably been sent to luxury cabins, fabulous hotels or other such places billionaires could afford to call safe houses. Perhaps he would go and join Tim and Squeezy. He could do with a few days in a luxury hotel. Limitless food. Limitless sex with Nikolas.

Nikolas pulled away. “Why are you laughing?” He poked at the food to see what Ben was making then turned to the table. Suddenly, he said in a choked voice, “Three plates?”

Ben nodded. “Oh, yeah. Steven’s here. I said he could—” Nikolas seized his arms so tightly that Ben reared back to break the hold. “What the—?”

“Where is he? Ben! Where is he?”

“Taking Radulf for a walk! Nikolas! Ow! Fucking let go!”

Nikolas dropped Ben’s wrist, which he’d grabbed after his vice-like grip on his arms had been broken. “Where!”

“Drover—”

Nikolas was running before Ben finished his sentence.

Ben tore after him. “He’s quite safe, Nik! Nikolas!”

Nikolas got to the lawn and hesitated, his face such a mask of desperate concern and terror that Ben skidded up beside him and appealed despairingly, “He’ll be okay, Nik! He’s just taking the dog—”

It seemed Nikolas had only stopped to decide between running to follow his son or to get a horse, for he then took off for the stables.

Ben hesitated, thinking about using the car, but realising that there was no way he could get it out of the grounds past the old drystone wall.

Nikolas had fetched his horse.

He hadn’t even taken time to saddle it or put a bridle on. He was bareback, lying low, spurring the creature faster with his heels. Ben stepped onto the grass in front of him and lifted an arm.

He thought for one moment Nikolas would ignore him, but he didn’t. He caught him expertly under the arm and swung him up.

Ben clung on around Nikolas’s waist. He wasn’t a natural horseman like Nikolas, but he was incredibly strong and gripped just as tight to the horse’s flanks with his legs as he was holding onto Nikolas.

They reached the wall and Nikolas jumped it. He’d never done that before. They crashed down on the other side. Ben dug his fingers into Nikolas’s belly even harder. He was pressed entirely to the bony frame, could feel every disc in Nikolas’s spine, taut as it was, flat over the horse’s neck.